


live in the along

by Kitty Eden (TheBigCat)



Series: unfold your own myth [5]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Body Horror, Curses, Fae & Fairies, Friendship, Gen, Nonbinary Doctor (Doctor Who), chronologically this all takes place far before the rest of the series, heart issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigCat/pseuds/Kitty%20Eden
Summary: Evelyn is having some heart problems. And what’s with this overtly verbose, strangely helpful fairy?
Relationships: Sixth Doctor & Evelyn Smythe
Series: unfold your own myth [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746379
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	live in the along

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Speech To The Young, Speech To The Progress-Toward_.
> 
> Stole a line or two from _The Marian Conspiracy_.

The fairy has been following Evelyn Smythe since she turned left on the corner of Miranda Way and Second Avenue. She’s incredibly aware of it. She _knows_ they’re trying to be sneaky about it, but they really aren’t doing a very good job of it.

Initially, she figures that she’ll just wait it out – try not to do anything too interesting or alluring and wait for them to lose interest – but after two blocks and no change in the uncomfortable feeling on the back of her neck, she quickly loses patience.

“Look,” she says, stopping in her tracks. She doesn’t look around to try to catch sight of whoever it is, instead choosing to glare out at the road in front of her. “If you want something, I’d appreciate it quite a bit if you’d just come out and tell me what it is. I don’t especially like feeling your eyes on the back of my neck all the time, you know!”

There is a very long silence. She would be afraid that she’s overthinking things, but the distant ozone feeling of magic is hard to mistake for anything else. The prickling sensation of being watched intensifies, but nobody shows themselves.

“If you’re going to be like that, that’s just fine by me. I’m heading to the market,” she tells the empty road, and hikes her empty basket higher up over one shoulder. “If you want to talk, feel free to meet me there. Otherwise, _do_ stop peering at me from your magical hidey-hole like some strange fae hooligan. It’s rude, and it gives me the shivers.”

She resumes walking. The market is at the other edge of town, nearly twenty minutes walk from her own house. And not once for the entire duration of the trip does the feeling of unfamiliar eyes following her decrease in intensity. If anything, it just becomes _more_ intense, like the act of her noticing and calling attention to it has increased the watcher’s curiosity.

The feeling lessens somewhat once Evelyn’s at the market and firmly enmeshed in the non-inconsiderable amount of people there. Evelyn picks up eggs, various fruits and vegetables, a jar or two of honey, as well as other more specific household items it’s impossible to find at the humble strip of town stores. The weekly market is just about the only regular time that it’s possible to buy from people coming in from out of town, so it’s always best to take advantage of the opportunity.

Evelyn’s browsing idly through a rack of knitted wares and swathes of fabric, not really intending to buy any of it, when the watched-feeling returns once more. She glances up sharply, and this time her gaze falls on someone in particular. They’re somewhat younger than she is, with a mess of curly blonde hair and a face that seems impossible to focus on properly.

And they had been looking right at her, at least until she had turned around to see them. Now, they’ve snatched up a hand-bound book from the nearest table and are currently trying to pretend they’re utterly engrossed in it and not at all paying attention to her.

Evelyn, puzzled and a bit irritated (but not outright _angry_ ), abandons the fabrics and knitted jumpers, and strolls over to them. And they have the nerve to try to pretend that they’re puzzled when she taps them on the shoulder and graces them with her most ridiculously unimpressed look.

“Did you need something?” they ask, the very picture of bewilderment. 

“You’re reading that upside-down,” Evelyn tells them dryly.

They look down at the book in question, seeing it properly for the first time. “Why, so I am. How careless of me.”

“Mm. I think we should talk.” She’s in the middle of the marketplace, surrounded by people who aren’t paying much attention at the moment but will no doubt start doing so if any violence or chaos should break out, so she doesn’t feel all that threatened. Maybe that’s why she feels so comfortable throwing all of her metaphorical cards out onto the table like this. “First things first,” she says, “I know you’re not human.”

“How very observant of you,” says the fairy. Their grins is bright and genuine, and when they tilt their head to one side, Evelyn can see the tell-tale pointed ears.

“And I know you’ve been watching me the entire time I’ve been here,” she continues. “So explain yourself. It’s rude to stare.”

They take their sweet time responding – carefully placing the book they’d been holding carefully back on its rack, examining a few of the other ones laid out and stacked on the table.

Evelyn waits, impatient and annoyed.

“I’ve been hearing... some things in the forest, recently,” they say eventually, not looking at her- just when she’s on the verge of speaking up and telling them to get on with it. “Talk of stealing a human heart for some ritual or other. Rumours that one human in particular had been marked.” A glance in her direction. They see the expression of honest surprise and a little bit of horror that she can’t help from flashing across her face, and incline their head solemnly. “I followed the magical trail as closely as I could. The results are quite conclusive, I’m afraid.”

“Oh dear,” says Evelyn, a bit faintly, and steadies herself briefly against the nearest market table. She allows herself a full ten seconds of panic before she draws herself up again. “Is there anything I should know? About when they’re coming – who _they_ are? Why they’re doing this?”

“No idea whatsoever, I’m afraid,” says the fairy with a regretful little shake of the head. “And I’m nearly certain it’s not personal, if that’s any comfort. Many of my people have an unfortunate tendency for settling their sights on any old human that looks like they might be interesting enough to toy with – you’re not the first, and by no means will you be the last.”

“It’s not,” says Evelyn. “A comfort, that is.”

“I had suspected it wouldn’t be,” they say with a little sigh, and then brighten. “As for what you can do to prevent it – well, I rather hoped I’d be able to extend my own services.”

“You want to help me?” Evelyn says, a bit relieved that a solution is presenting itself to this new, unexpected problem that she really has no idea how to even begin tackling. “What would that consist of?”

“You know, I’m not really sure,” they say. This does not inspire confidence, and neither does the fact that they perk up a second later and say, “I suppose you could call it _bodyguard duty,_ of a sort.”

“You,” she says. They’re taller than her, certainly, but that’s about where any sort of semblance of ‘threatening’ ends.

“I do happen to know quite a lot about how to keep the fae out, you know,” they say, affronted. “Seeing as I happen to be one of them, myself.”

They can’t be lying, because fairies aren’t able to that. And despite all of the long words, what they’re telling her is direct and there’s not much room for alternate interpretations.

And Evelyn _really_ doesn’t want to have her heart stolen.

“All right,” she says. “What do I have to lose?”

“Well, your heart,” they say.

This surprises her into a small smile of grim amusement. “Well, quite.” And then she bites her lip. “And what do you want in return?” She’s lived in Little Caldwell for close to her entire life and knows intimately how these sorts of things tend to go.

“Return?” The look of puzzlement that crosses their face is so instantaneous that there’s no way it could be faked. “Oh, I’d rather forgotten about that. I suppose I _should_ want something in return for helping you, yes. Hm, let me see now...” They turn around, scanning the marketplace. Their eyes settle on something in particular, and go bright with excitement, although they quickly clear their throat and try to hide it. “That coat will do, I think.”

“A coat?” Evelyn looks over in the direction they indicate, and can’t quite hide a flinch, because it’s... quite honestly, it’s maybe the most hideous thing she’s ever seen. “Oh, that’s dreadful – I’m begging you to pick something else. _Anything_ else.”

“Why?” they say, drawing themselves up indignantly. “It’s a perfectly reasonable request. I have no money of my own, and I should think that one measly coat is an _exceedingly_ small price to pay for your continued life and livelihood! I have it on _very_ good authority that living without a heart is a distinctly unpleasant experience!”

“Oh, settle down!” says Evelyn. “I’ll buy the silly old thing if you insist. I just think there’s far better ways you could be asking me to repay you!”

Their expression drops for a second, and then they say, “I would be careful about saying things like that, if I were you. If you happen to go about talking to any other fae, I mean. Not all of them are as laid-back with these sorts of things as I am.”

“Ah – noted,” says Evelyn, a bit embarrassed. “Well, the coat it is, then. No matter how I feel about it. You’ll have to wait another month,” she adds, pursing her lips. “I’m nearly out of money, and it’s somewhat out of my price range.”

“Perfectly acceptable,” they say. “I’m in no particular hurry.”

Evelyn also doubts that anybody will be rushing to buy the hideously bright mess of fabric and colors anytime soon, so at least they’re safe on that front.

“Well!” They clap their hands together briskly. “As long as we’re to be working together for the foreseeable future, we should exchange monikers. Pseudonyms, if you wish – but I would appreciate being able to call you by a name of some sort.”

“Call me... Doctor,” Evelyn says, because she _is_ one and why not that qualification as an alias for a situation like this? It only really occurs to her after she says it that giving up _that_ as a name to a fae being is a questionable decision, because what if they decide to steal that? Can they take her doctorate if she’s offered it up like this? What would a fairy even _need_ with a doctorate of history?

But the fairy doesn’t look smug or like they’re planning anything at all. They look actually, properly affronted. “No,” they say. “Choose some other name.”

“Whyever would I want to do a thing like that?” Evelyn says. “I’m hardly going to give you my _real_ name, and _Doctor_ is as good a name as any.”

“Well, it actually happens to already be _my_ name,” says the fairy. The look of distinct grumpiness all across their face is very convincing. “It’s not as if we can _both_ be the Doctor. No, no, you’ll have to pick something different.”

Evelyn laughs. She can’t help it. “Don’t be ridiculous. What are the odds of something like that happening?”

“Infinitesimally small,” they say. “Believe me, I know. But my name is the Doctor, and as you probably know already, I – being a creature of the, ah, fae persuasion – cannot tell a lie.”

...Evelyn does know this. And she feels a sudden faint pressure in her ears, like she’s gone a bit too high up a mountain or a bit too low into a cave. She has to swallow to clear it, and she realizes that they’ve actually gone and given her their name – or part of it, anyway. Just like that. No bargaining or trickery or deals required. How curious.

“I... see,” she says. “In that case, call me, ah...”

“I have no intention of stealing your name, I assure you,” they – the Doctor – interjects. They seem mortally offended at the very idea. “And again – not a single falsehood has, or over will, pass from my lips, etcetera – ”

“I like to be cautious,” says Evelyn. “Oh, how about this – call me _Professor_. It’s not entirely up-to-date, but it does still technically apply to me.”

“Adequate enough, I suppose,” the Doctor says, and this is more or less the story of how and why the Doctor is now taking up residence in her house.

Evelyn isn’t all that enthused about this, despite the fact that she’d had to explicitly invite them in for it to happen. It seems quite a bit like coercion, even if they _are_ trying to save her life.

They have claimed the guest bedroom as their base of operations, waving away her half-hearted muttering about how it’s not really all that ready for guests, and made themselves pretty thoroughly at home despite the fact that they have next to no material possessions.

The thing is, she hadn’t even thought to put away the numerous letters and envelopes stacked on the mantlepiece with her name on them, much less hide the somewhat ostentatiously embroidered teatowel that had been gifted to her by a student some years ago. It doesn’t take very long at all for the Doctor to notice them and then, presumably, work out that ‘Evelyn’ is, in fact, her name.

They still call her ‘Professor’, though, and don’t even bring it up. It’s considerate of them. And somehow it only takes them four days to slip up and, while they’re in the kitchen helping Evelyn prepare lunch, absentmindedly ask, “Would you mind terribly not adding salt to that, Evelyn? It makes it rather uncomfortable to eat for me – ”

And then they instantly freeze, looking absurdly guilty for someone whose only crime is using her first name. Considering the circumstances and what they are and the power that names have, it’s probably a well-deserved sort of guilt. But it _is_ absurd. They both know it’s her name, and at this point the amount of pussyfooting around it they’re doing borders on the ridiculous.

“Oh, go on then,” she says with a sigh, and from then on they call her variations on ‘Evelyn’ and ‘Doctor Smythe’ and ‘My Dear Doctor Evelyn And/Or Smythe’, if they happen to be feeling in a particularly loquacious mood (which is often).

Within a week, they’ve settled into something that Evelyn hesitates to call ‘domesticity’, because... _well_ – but on the other hand, it really can’t be called anything else. They’ve both learned how to sidestep the other in the kitchen in the mornings, what times not to disturb each other (although the Doctor does tend to ignore this when it’s convenient for them), and Evelyn has very carefully phased out the use of ginger from her cooking, because it’s apparently an intoxicant for fairies and _one evening of that is enough._

Evelyn stays at home, as per their request. She reads books, gets some knitting done, works on her thesis, tries not to scream at the monotony of being cooped up, very carefully does not let the dread of being marked by unseelie fairies sink in, reads some more books. It’s rather unclear what the Doctor’s doing most of the time, but in the evenings they show her what they’ve done to her outside porch – charms in bottles, rocks and herbs.

“I would advise you put up a horseshoe over the door,” the Doctor tells her, leaning against the railing of the porch with crossed arms and a frown. “But as long as I’m here...”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you out, no,” Evelyn says.

“Yes, that is appreciated.” A faint smile. “But the moment all of this nonsense is sorted out, find as many horseshoes as you can and start distributing them around your property with a _vengeance._ If you’d done it before, you most likely wouldn’t have been marked in the first place.”

Evelyn sighs. “I suppose hindsight _is_ twenty-twenty. Don’t worry, I’ll look into it. I have no desire for this to happen again.”

“Please do,” they say. “I’m certainly not going to all the effort of keeping my people away from you just so they can kick down the door the moment I leave the premises.” A hesitation, a breath, then, “and more than that, it would... distress me. Considerably.”

*

It’s Saturday the next day, which means the market is on – which means the Doctor nags her passive-aggressively for nearly an hour until she sighs and reaches for her purse. She’d been trying to see how long she could last before caving for the sake of her sanity and the answer, as it turns out, is ‘not that long at all’. The Doctor can be supremely irritating when they want to be.

She takes a basket and scolds the Doctor into helping her carry a few items of knitting she’s been meaning to trade or sell, and they set off down the road together.

The Doctor sulks about being forced to act as a common pack animal for a few streets, and then seems to forget about it entirely. They ask her about what she’s been writing, sounding genuinely curious, and she starts to explain, and all in all it’s a very pleasant experience. Evelyn is surprised to note that she really is enjoying herself.

And then she hears something faint and silvery, like a snatch of music passing by her ear – far too fast for her to catch.

“Did you hear that?” she says absently, not really all that worried. But whatever they say in reply to that she doesn’t catch, because there’s a sudden stabbing pain in her chest and she lets out a yell, grabbing wildly for the closest thing to her. The closest thing to her happens to be the Doctor’s arm. They make a noise of protest, which is immediately followed by an, “ _Evelyn?_ ” and then they’re seizing her by the forearms and thing go a bit blurry for a few seconds.

When everything comes back into focus, Evelyn’s holding a hand to her heart. Her head is pounding furiously. She can’t feel her heart beating. “The last time I felt like this was the Yard of Ale race against the students at the History Soc Social,” she murmurs.

“Really?” The Doctor seems distracted. They’re kneeling next to her – and when had she fallen to the ground? She can’t remember – with two cold long finger to her wrist. They look worried. “Who won?”

“Oh, the yard of ale, definitely.” Evelyn blinks up at them. The dizziness is quickly fading, replaced by a curiously comfortable numbness. “I take it they’ve stolen my heart.”

Their fingers slip from the pulse point to loosely encircle her wrist. “Yes. Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry.”

“Why on Earth are you apologizing? I feel fine.” Evelyn sits up. She really honestly does feel fine. Her mind is perfectly clear and while the absence of her heart’s familiar thumping and the movement of blood through her body is somewhat disconcerting, she’s sure she’ll grow used to it in no time. It’s actually rather fascinating, in a grim sort of way. “Dear me, what a feeling. Should I be worried about keeling over from oxygen deprivation? I’m not so sure I need to breathe anymore.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” says the Doctor, sitting back. The furrow in their brow remains. “Magic will keep you going for far longer than blood and breath ever will.”

“How horribly unscientific,” Evelyn says.

The Doctor laughs, a dry little humorless chuckle. “You sound like my brother.” And then the laughter almost immediately fades back into a worried frown. “We need to fix you. You can’t stay like this.”

“Whyever not?” she says. Now she’s standing up straight, she feels fine. Better than fine, really. Like she could run for miles without stopping or having to even so much as slow down. “I do believe this is the best I’ve felt in _years_.”

They just stare at her for a long, hard moment, and shake their head. “No,” they say. “This can’t be allowed to happen. We,” and here they bend down and scoop up everything that they’d dropped to the ground when Evelyn had taken her turn, “are going to go into the depths of Lungbarrow Woods and get your heart back _exactly_ where it belongs.”

“Surely we could stop by the market first, at least,” she says.

“Absolutely not.” The scooped-up items are dumped into the basket, and that’s abandoned by the nearest tree. They seize her right wrist, and begin pulling her in the opposite direction to the market. “When it comes to matters of this magnitude, there is absolutely no time to lose.”

It takes them forty-five minutes to get to where they need to go, which ends up being a small clearing in the middle of the forest. It’s circular and quiet, and the Doctor doesn’t let go of her wrist once, even as she complains lightly and tries to get them to stop hauling her around like a sack of flour because she is a _person with autonomy_ thank you very much.

But then they tilt their head to one side, like they’re trying hear something (although there’s nothing _to_ hear, it’s completely quiet, there’s no birds or anything _anywhere)_ and they go trotting off in a new direction, still pulling her behind them.

“Doctor,” she says, “Doctor, _really,_ it’s nothing to be worried about. I don’t blame you in the least for not being able to stop it happening; _I_ certainly didn’t see it coming. And it’s not as if it hurts – ”

“The bar is so much higher than that,” they say, calmly furious. “ _So_ much higher. You’ll thank me for this later, Evelyn, I promise.”

“Who are you even taking me to see?” she wonders.

“Nobody,” says the Doctor, quite darkly, “or at least, no-one you need to worry about after all this is over. Come along now – ”

“Oh, _honestly_ ,” she says, and then she is dragged through a thicket of bushes and then she’s face-to-face with the biggest tree she’s ever seen in her life. It’s huge, with great reaching branches and roots that dig deep into the earth in every direction. It’s blossoming with all shades of green and flowers of every color. It’s beautiful enough that it almost breaks through the fuzzy calm sort of apathy she’s been drifting in for the last however-long-it’s been.

But the Doctor is not looking at the tree. Well, the Doctor _is_ looking at the tree, but they’re looking up at a specific part of the tree and even more accurately they’re looking at what’s sitting in it.

“Of course it’s you _,_ ” they say. “I should’ve known. I _did_ know, as a matter of fact”

The creature sitting up in the tree, far above them, is beyond human comprehension. Evelyn tries to comprehend, anyway. Its drifting hair curls up off into impossible fractals in every direction. It has too many limbs in all the wrong places, the colors are all wrong, and its smile is nothing short of villainous. There are quite a lot of teeth involved.

“Well, look at you!” it says. “You _did_ find me, eventually. How ingenious.”

It is holding Evelyn’s heart in one twisting, clawed hand. She know it’s her heart the moment she sees it – pulsing faintly, shimmering gold and scarlet where it catches the sunlight. She doesn’t know _how_ or _why_ she knows it, only that it was hers. Strangely, she doesn’t feel any particular pull or draw towards it, nor does she have any inclination towards wanting it back.

“I would like my friend’s heart returned to her, please,” says the Doctor. They sound almost scarily serious.

“We’re friends?” Evelyn says. “Oh, good. I wasn’t all that sure, you see – there’s been considerable debate for years now over if fairies actually understand the concept of _friendship._ I’d been meaning to ask about that, you know – ”

The Doctor shushes her. It’s very rude of them. She’s about to tell them about how obstinate they’re being, but then they say, “Yes, Evelyn, of course we’re friends; I’m surprisingly fond of you for only having known you a week, but we have a _slight problem here_ ,” and this satisfies her so she does in fact stop talking, and lets them get on with whatever strange sort of macho fairy posturing ritual they’re currently engaging in. “What do you want from me?”

The thing presses one hand up to its mouth, and lets out a little yelp of something that can only be ecstatic excitement. “Oh, _Doctor;_ such a treat! Offering up _anything_? Why, there’s so much to choose from! How very _inadvisable_ of you.”

“You did warn me not to do that,” Evelyn says.

“Not _now,_ Evelyn,” says the Doctor with an agonized expression even though she knows he knows she’s right. Their gaze goes sharp, eyes go cold. “Name your price.”

“ _Any_ price?” The being’s fingers, long and twisting, tighten around the heart with something like glee.

“Within reason,” the Doctor snaps, and then waits. Evelyn waits too, because it seems like the creature in the tree is thinking very hard about what it wants and it would be quite rude of the both of them to interrupt it.

“That clearing that you passed through to get to,” says the creature after a while. Its voice is casual, laid-back. Like it really couldn’t care any less even though it’s patently obvious that it does, in fact, care a great deal. She can’t imagine it would have stolen the heart in the first place if it didn’t.

“The fairy ring – yes, yes, what about it?” The Doctor looks ridiculously impatient.

“I’ll give your friend her heart back,” says the creature, tossing the heart in question up high into the air. It goes tumbling end-over-end, glinting gold in the sunlight, and then it catches it easily, claws compressing it as it pulses and throbs desperately as if trying to beat its way right out of its captor’s hand. “ _If_ you agree to never set foot in it for the next, oh, shall we say – hundred years or so? No, let’s make it a nice, uneven, ninety-nine. Just to be safe.”

The Doctor goes stiff at her side. Their eyes narrow. They don’t seem angry at the proposal, just confused.

“Why,” they say, without intonation and inflection.

“I don’t need to tell you that,” it replies airly. “It’s a simple enough deal, Doctor. Stay out of my way, Granny gets her heart back. All I need is your agreement. Do you accept or not?”

A breath, and then –

“Very well,” says the Doctor slowly and with a great deal of reluctance. “I will stay out of that fairy rings of yours. Not one footstep into the circle. I shan’t so much as _glance_ at it. I swear this on my life and soul, and so on and so forth – we both know the terms. There’s no real reason to elaborate. Is this acceptable?”

“Sounds good to me!” says the creature with a reality-fracturing grin. “And remember, a promise _is_ a promise. You really don’t want to see what happens if you do ever go back there again. Catch!”

“Don’t you dare-!” the Doctor begins to shout, but it’s too late. It’s already flicked its wrist elegantly, and the heart is arcing gracefully through the air.

The Doctor lunges forwards – a bit awkwardly, because apparently they aren’t very athletic, but they do manage to throw their hands out and catch it before it can even so much as get close to touching the forest floor, drawing it close to their own chest as if to keep it safe.

“Really, now! – throwing my heart around like it’s a cricket ball,” Evelyn says, a bit indignant despite not caring about what happens to the silly old thing, one way or another. It’s the principle of everything. “It’s a vital organ, not a child’s toy!”

The creature lets out a quick little hoot of laughter. “Oh, _Grandma,_ you _are_ a treat! Never change, and I _mean_ that.”

“You may want to take a deep breath,” the Doctor says, catching her eye, and then they seize her arm with a pained expression, and plunge their hand into her chest.

And her heart is returned to her body.

That’s easy enough to say just like that, but it’s horrifically painful. She can feel the veins and arteries reconnecting, the blood resuming its flow, the chemicals in her brains resuming their full and proper work, and she screams for nearly a full minute. The Doctor holds her shoulders and keeps her head from bumping and knocking against the forest floor.

When it’s done, she says, “Ow.” It’s an understatement of the greatest magnitude, but it’s about all she has the energy for at the moment. She looks up, and the creature is no longer sitting in the tree. It’s as if they’d never been there.

“Evelyn,” they say, sounding out-of-their-mind worried. “Evelyn, look at me – how many fingers am I holding up? What day is it? What year did Elizabeth the First die of sepsis?”

“Oh, stop fussing, I’m _fine –_ I’ve only undergone a little spontaneous magical heart surgery,” she says. The pain has almost gone entirely already. There’s a tremor in her chest that she doesn’t like the feeling of, but it’s fading even as she sits up, with their help. “And... all five, Saturday, and 1603, in that order.”

“Wrong,” they say. “The thumb isn’t a finger.” But they do look remarkably relieved by this, and they allow her to push herself into a sitting position on her own.

“ _Pedantics_ ,” she sighs, affectionately exasperated, and then she spends about a minute trying to adjust to the feeling of being alive one more. “My goodness, what was I thinking? I don’t think I can apologize enough. All of that was quite undignified of me, wasn’t it?”

“Being mostly dead does tend to cloud the mind quite a bit,” they tell her dryly.

“Hmm,” she says, and winces. “Still.” It takes another minute for her to comb back through the events of the previous hour properly. “That... you made a deal with that creature. What was that about?”

“I’ll be honest – I have no idea whatsoever,” the Doctor says. “But all I really need to do is stay out of that clearing, and I’m sure everything will end up working out swimmingly.”

Judging by the downward curve of their lips, they don’t really believe that. And neither does Evelyn. “You should have asked for more clarification from that thing. It wouldn’t have asked for – for such a _specific_ sort of favor if it wasn’t planning anything.”

“I’m wildly aware, yes,” says the Doctor. “But _really_ , Evelyn – what else was I supposed to do? Leave you like that, forever?” A huff of something that’s far too borderline-hysterical to be laughter. “You’d have started wasting away in less than a week, and most likely would have wandered off into the Court not too long after. And you really don’t want to know what they enjoy doing to hapless, heartless humans in their domain.”

“No,” says Evelyn, “no, I suppose I don’t.” A moment passes, and then she catches at their hand. “I can’t thank you enough, you know. But I know how to make a start.”

“You do?” says the Doctor, and then realization blooms over their face. “Oh – I see, of course, but you really don’t need to do that right _now,_ you’ve just been through a terrible ordeal.”

“Not as terrible as it could have been, thanks to you,” says Evelyn. “I insist.”

*

They take a different route out of the tree – carefully avoiding going anywhere near the Doctor’s now-forbidden section of the forest. The market isn’t at all too far from where they had ended up, really. Evelyn can manage the walk with next to no difficulty whatsoever, despite the Doctor’s muttered protests. In fact, they make it there with time to spare – the sellers haven’t even begun to think about closing up yet. And there it is, in pride of place on the rack. That damned coat.

Evelyn sighs, exasperated, but it’s more affectation then genuine infuriation at this point. She goes to pay for it, and then comes striding back to present it to the Doctor with no small amount of ceremony.

“There,” she says, placing it in their arms. “For services rendered. And,” she adds, and leans up to press a kiss onto their cheek. “That’s for going above and beyond – thank you.”

“Both are appreciated,” says the Doctor, and bumps her affectionately with their shoulder as they begin to make the rounds to pick up the groceries and assorted items they had initially set out for. Together, they get it all done in less than an hour, and they’re meandering back to Evelyn’s house before the sun has even reached halfway up in the sky.

When they arrive, there are a trio of sparrows lined up neatly on the front porch. Evelyn hesitates, eyeing them suspiciously, because who knows what kind of tricks the Unseelie Court has up their flowing, impossible sleeves, but the Doctor seems unconcerned.

“Go ahead without me,” they tell her, nudging her towards the house. “I’ll only be a moment. I believe I have a message to take from these fine ladies.”

“So you talk to birds now?” She shakes her head, and takes the groceries he had been carrying. “I really don’t know what I expected – of course you do.”

“It’s an acquired talent, one of the many I have,” they say.

Evelyn sighs and smiles, and goes to the kitchen. It takes her a few minutes to put everything away and then find what she’s looking for, and when she gets back with her tray of chocolate cake and tea-things, she’s just in time to see the trio of birds fluttering away into the forest. The Doctor is frowning, rocking back-and-forth on their heels.

“Is something the matter?” she wonders.

They pace, back-and-forth-back-and-forth, and then come to a halt. “I need to go,” they say, with a considerable amount of regret.

“So soon?” Evelyn says, setting the tea-tray on the porch side-table. “I was at least hoping you could stay for tea.”

“Sadly, duty calls.” They’re tugging on the sleeves of their their eyesore of a newly-acquired coat and fiddling with one of the shiny cat brooches that she knows they’ve stolen from her side-table. “An old friend needs my assistance.”

“Oh?”

“An imp infestation on the other side of the forest, if the sparrows are to be believed,” they tell her. They pat down their coat, adjusting the lapels. “Although they do tend to be the most horrible gossips, so I shall take it with a grain of salt until I see it for myself.”

“I see.” She stands there for a moment, watching them brush imaginary dust off their sleeves and check their equally nonexistent watch. They’re clearly stalling for what really is no reason.

“Well, don’t leave just yet,” she says, and picks up the tea-tray before turning neatly on her heel to go get her handbag. 

When she re-emerges only a minute-or-so later, fully-packed handbag slung over her shoulder and buttoning up her thickest cardigan with one hand (it really is unreasonably, unseasonably cold), the Doctor has stopped pretending to perform very intricate, important Preparing To Go rituals.

“You’re coming?” they ask, somehow managing to sound bewildered and immeasurably pleased at once.

“Well, of course I am,” she says. “You still haven’t had any of this chocolate cake...” She pats her bulging handbag, “...and goodness knows what sort of trouble you’d end up getting into without me.”

“My dear Doctor Smythe,” says the Doctor. Their smile is a bit too sharp around the edges to be a human’s, but there’s something beautifully charming about it nonetheless. They offer her their arm. “I do think this could be the start of an excellent friendship.”

“Start?” she says, and takes the proffered arm, linking her own through it. “I rather thought it was well in progress.”

And as they set off towards the distant treeline together, it really does feel like the beginning of something rather excellent.

**Author's Note:**

> And now for the somewhat-less-than-fun bit, in which I announce that the reason I posted three bits of update for this series in one evening is because I probably will not be updating for a very, very long time! Life and other projects have caught up with me, and I haven't written anything for this series for a good long while (these last few pieces I had been saving up and wavering on Whether I Should Post Or Not for a few months) - and inspiration has fallen away from me. 
> 
> That is to say, if anybody else wants to try their hand at weaving these plot threads together and/or writing anything else for the series, I certainly wouldn't be opposed! But any actual updates from me will be few and far-between (and probably there won't be any art for any more of it. that was so overambitious of me what was I thinking).


End file.
